


Calculus: The Bane of My Existence

by magsforya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magsforya/pseuds/magsforya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Darren are the last two people in their dorm's study lounge. Chris is there studying Calculus--and failing miserably. Darren offers to lend him a hand.</p><p>Meet-Cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calculus: The Bane of My Existence

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/post/107366034654/calculus-the-bane-of-my-existence)

                This math class is going to kill him. It will be a slow, slow death. If it doesn’t kill him on its own then it will force Chris to kill himself, because he would rather face his mortality than solve for _x_ one more time.

                He doesn’t even know why he needs this math class. He’s an _English_ major. English. Not Sociology. Not Business. Not Science. English. You know what English is comprised of? Words. Not numbers. _Words._

                If he doesn’t end up dead then he’ll end up in jail. Or on the streets. Or, realistically, back in his childhood bedroom. Because if he doesn’t pass this class then he doesn’t graduate. And if he doesn’t graduate then he will never get a job. And if he never gets a job, well…then he’ll probably kill himself.

                All figuratively speaking, of course.

                But this is the second time he’s taken this Calculus class. The first time, last semester, he failed it. It tanked his GPA, which, to be honest, wasn’t as high as it could have been. But failing this class the first time put him on the cusp of academic probation. He always does well in his English Writing classes. He also does equally well in his History classes—he’s double majoring. Everything else tends to fall to the wayside. Gen Eds are _not_ his friend.

                It’s Tuesday and it’s almost eleven at night. Chris has class in twelve hours. Chris has _Calculus_ in twelve hours, but he still can’t manage to understand this homework. The exam is in a week and he has some homework from the book and a practice test. The book homework wasn’t that bad because every odd numbered question had the answer in the back of the book.

                But the practice quiz is a nightmare. Chris is sure he has a bald spot by now from how often he’s grunted loudly and yanked at his hair. What makes it worse is that Chris’ Professor doesn’t allow cheat sheets on the exams, so he’s expected to memorize completely meaningless formulas.

                He can barely count to ten. Whoever expects him to be able to do Calculus is fucking nuts. He’s never even taken Pre-Calc before. _He can’t even calculate a tip at a restaurant without his cell phone’s calculator._ He’s been in his dorm’s study lounge since eight o’clock and only has half of the practice test completed. What’s worse, every time he completes a problem (which takes a half an hour in the first place, and most of the time he gives up halfway through) he gets a new answer. He has no idea which answer is the right one. Or if any of them _is_ the right one.

                The verdict’s in: he’s hopeless.

                He lets out another groan and drops his head onto his hands. He’s debating the pros and cons of just giving up and going to bed. His bed his comfy. He has sweatpants in his room. And a television. Plus ice cream.

                “Having fun?”

                Chris looks up, not sure who’s talking. He sees that the only other person in the room is looking at him, and Chris gives him a confused look.

                “You’ve been, uh, here for a while. Groaning occasionally. And you talk to yourself.”

                “I do not!” Chris immediately rebuffs.

                The guy laughs. “Something tells me that you’re not a fan of your _fucking Calculus class_ or your _twitwad of a Professor who probably has never been laid before._ ”

                Chris’ cheeks turn the rosiest of pink and his eyes go alarmingly wide for a moment.

                “Okay. Maybe I do talk to myself.”

                The guy laughs again.

                “No worries. I found it quite entertaining. I feel the same way.”

                “You also taking Calculus?” Chris ventures.

                “No. I did my freshman year. Right now it’s Astronomy. Whoever gave me the bright idea to take this as my Science Elective deserves to be punched in the guts.”

                “Not a fan of the solar system?” Chris asks.

                “Big fan of the solar system. That shit is interesting. Turns out I should have read the course description more clearly because all we do in this class is memorize ancient astronomers and what they discovered and who their students were. Like I give a shit who Copernicus’s students were.”

                “So I guess I should add that class to the list of things not to take?” Chris asks, a small smile on his lips.

                “Oh definitely. Not if you value your sanity.”

                “Clearly I don’t,” Chris replies, nodding towards the papers on the table in front of him.

                “Not a math person, I assume.”

                “Second time I’m taking this class and I still think I might fail,” Chris admits.

                “Oooh,” the guy replies, his face scrunching a bit. “Harsh, man.”

                Chris shrugs and twiddles the pencil between his fingers. He’s not quite sure what else to say or if it’s an appropriate time to go back to his work.

                “I could help, if you wanted.”

                “For real?!” Chris asks. Because that would be a godsend.

                “Yeah. I mean, it’s been a while,” the guys says, standing up from his table and walking towards Chris, “but I think I still know my stuff.”

                He takes the seat next to Chris, and for a moment all Chris can do is stare at his wildly curly hair.

                “My name’s Darren, by the way.”

                “Chris,” Chris replies.

                “So what exactly are you stuck on?” Darren asks, looking over Chris’ practice test and homework.

                “Implicit Differentiation,” Chris replies monotone.

                “Ugh. Yeah. That shit sucks,” Darren nods. “Mind if I borrow your pencil? I only have a pen.”

                “Sure,” Chris says, handing his pencil over.

                Darren spends a few minutes looking over the paper while Chris nervously bites his lip and tries to focus on something other than the good looking guy who is checking his work and probably realizing what an idiot Chris is.

                “So,” Darren says a minute later, “I hate to break this to you, but—“

                “All of my answers are wrong?” Chris interrupts with a forced smile. He’s pretty sure it comes out as a grimace.

                “Yeah,” Darren says sympathetically. “But the good news is that for a lot of the problems you at least know what you _should_ be doing. You’re just not following through with it correctly.”

                “That doesn’t sound like good news,” Chris laughs self-deprecatingly.

                “No, it’s good! You understand what you should be doing, but you just forget how to do it. Here’s a crash course of sorts. Sometimes the variables involved in an equation are not related to each other explicitly. Most of the time they are linked together through an implicit formula, like this one,” Darren says, writing a formula on one of the scrap papers Chris has on the table. “First you want to find _x_. Once _x_ is fixed, then you can move on to solve _y._ ”

                Darren writes down a few formulas and solves a few equations with Chris; he asks Chris questions like, “So what should we do next?” and, “So now solve the rest of this equation for me,” handing Chris the pencil. After they do a few problems together, Darren tells Chris to solve question four from his practice test alone.

                He gets it wrong the first time, but the second time he gets it right.

                “I hate this,” Chris moans. “I’m allowed to hate this, right?”

                “Totally,” Darren replies. “But you’re getting better.”

                “Marginally,” Chris responds.

                Darren rolls his eyes. “Man, you totally have this. It’s just almost midnight and no one wants to do math at 11:45.”

                “Apparently no one wants to do Astronomy either,” Chris says.

                Darren laughs. “It’s a lost cause. I’m already over it.”

                “Studying for a test?” Chris presumes.

                “Yeah.”

                “When is it?”

                “Tomorrow at ten.”

                Chris grimaces. “Think you’re gonna do well?”

                Darren leans back in his chair. “Honestly?” He says, seeming reticent to go on. “I’ll do fine. I’m taking it with a bunch of friends. We all just cheat off each other anyway.”

                He says it with a guilty expression, but Chris can tell Darren isn’t actually guilty. Probably just worried about Chris’ reaction.

                “What I’d do to have an arrangement like that in my math class,” Chris responds wistfully.

                “It’s harder with math. You have to actually solve problems step by step. In Astronomy it’s all Scantron. Fill in the bubble. Much easier,” Darren laughs.

                “New life goal: find people to cheat off of when I have to take my next science course.”

                “You won’t regret it!” Darren smiles, leaning his head on his hand. “So, when’s your test?”

                “Not until next week. But I’ve been studying for it for weeks. When I took this class last semester I failed this test.”

                “I’m sure you didn’t do _that_ badly,” Darren replies.

                Chris raises his eyebrow and tries not to smile. “I got a 14%,” he deadpans.

                Darren’s eyes go wide as saucers. “For fucking real?!” he asks.

                Chris nods, chuckling a bit. “The only thing I got right was my name. I swear my Prof gave me those fourteen points out of pity.”

                “Shit,” Darren exhales slowly, still looking at Chris.

                Chris suddenly feels a little awkward with how Darren’s looking at him. It’s much more invasive than he was expecting. Darren hardly moves his eyes away from Chris’. Chris, on the other hand, can’t stop his eyes from moving to the table or the chair or the window behind Darren. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with a stranger.

                “Well,” Chris coughs, looking back at Darren. “I think I’m gonna call it a night. I think I’ve learned all I can today.”

                “Yeah,” Darren says, lifting his head from his hand. He helps Chris gather his stuff, and then together they walk over to Darren’s table.

                “I think I will, too, actually.”

                Darren picks up his textbook and notebook and leads Chris to the door. He opens it for Chris and lets Chris walk out first.

                “I’m to the right,” Darren says, using his thumb to point to the right corridor.

                “The left,” Chris replies, a little sullenly.

                Darren nods. “Goodnight, then! Maybe I’ll see you before your test?”

                “Uh. Yeah. Yeah,” Chris stutters. “Good luck tomorrow.”

                “Thanks,” Darren smiles. It reaches his eyes.

                Chris runs his hand through his hair again and heads down the hallway to his room. When he opens the door his roommate is awake watching some late night TV show. Chris throws his bookbag to the ground, strips to his underwear, and plops onto his bed face first.

                _Tonight was exhausting_ , he thinks.

* * *

                He doesn’t see Darren the next day. Or the day after that.

                Normally Chris prefers to study in the library because the dorm study lounge is usually packed and loud. But a few times, late at night, he’ll head to the lounge if it’s quiet and hope to see Darren there. But to no avail.

                On the bright side, it turns out that he actually remembers everything Darren taught him about implicit differentiation, because he’s able to complete one more practice test without murdering anyone or pulling his hair out. He doesn’t ace it, but he gets more than half of it right, and that’s all that Chris cares about.

                He doesn’t have high expectations—he just needs a _C-_ in the class to pass. Although, the fact that he currently has a _C-_ is a bit worrisome.

                So he spends the next week holed up in the library or the study lounge trying to soak up as much information as he possibly can. When he takes the exam he walks out feeling exhausted and worried, but overall content. Really all he wants is to get shitfaced and forget the last few weeks ever happened.

                Calculus _really_ sucks.

                So that Tuesday night he and two of his friends hit up an on campus bar. Brad and Bethany share a pitcher of beer, Chris buys himself a shot pitcher and drinks the first half in one minute.

                “Fuck, that feels good,” he exhales loudly.

                The bar is crowded, and there’s really no where for him and his friends to go, so they hang out in the middle and scream a conversation back and forth. Chris is just in the middle of listening to Brad talk about something funny that happened to one of his fraternity brothers when he hears someone scream his name. He looks up and sees Darren a few feet away.

                “CHRIS!” Darren screams, jovial and red cheeked and carrying a pitcher of beer all for himself. “What’s up?!” He comes up to Chris and pats him on the back in a semi-hug that Chris sort of returns. He tries not to look at the confused faces of his friends.

                “Not much,” Chris screams back. “How are you?”

                “Good!” Darren replies, still smiling. There are a few guys hanging behind Darren and talking to each other, and Chris assumes they’re Darren’s friends.

                “How’d your Astronomy test go?” Chris asks. It falls off his tongue before he can even think about what to say.

                Darren laughs. “Would you believe I aced it?”

                Chris rolls his eyes. “Must’ve been all the hard work you put into studying,” he laughs.

                Darren laughs back. “How about your test?”

                “We won’t get the grades for a while,” Chris begins.

                “What?!” Darren replies, and takes a step closer. There’s only a few inches between the now. “Say that again,” Darren demands.

                “We won’t get the grades back for a while. But I’m confident I at least got a _D_ +.”

                “Cheers to that!” Darren says, lifting his pitcher. Chris lifts his own, which is just melting ice at this point.

                “That won’t do,” Darren says, looking sadly at Chris drink. “Come on. I’ll buy you another one.”

                Chris wants to say no. He came here with friends—friends who have now respectfully taken a few steps backward and are pretending not to watch what is happening but failing miserably at being discreet—and he doesn’t want to ditch them. He’s not that guy. But on the other hand, he’s buzzed, he _does_ want another drink, and he’s sort of spent the last week trying to bump into Darren accidentally anyway. Plus, free booze.

                Chris follows Darren to the bar and when it’s his turn, tells the bartender what he wants.

                “Put it on tab 142,” Darren tells her.

                “Thanks,” Chris responds. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

                “Pshaw,” Darren replies. “You deserve it! It’s not every day you almost fail Calculus!”

                Chris laughs and they clink pitchers. Chris doesn’t go back with his friends that night. Darren doesn’t either. At two in the morning they drunkenly stumble to their dorm together, singing show tunes all the way there.

**Author's Note:**

> Didja like it? Hate it? Shrug your shoulders and go, "Meh"? Well, feel free to let me know!
> 
> [Tumblr](http://magsforya.tumblr.com/post/107366034654/calculus-the-bane-of-my-existence)


End file.
